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MFotD: Borborygmus

June 25, 2012

borborygmus, noun (bor-buh-RIG-mus)

1. intestinal rumbling caused by moving gas


One borborygmus. Two, three, four borborygmi. The date was already going poorly; going back to the bathroom to fart some more was not an option. Sally Jenkins was an upright young lady from a good family. Her dad was the day manager and the local car manufacturing plant, and her mom hosted the weekly book club meeting that all the wives in the neighborhood attended. Steven, her older brother, was class president and starting point guard on the school basketball team; now he plays for State. Sally somehow surpassed her sibling in popularity now that she was a senior—she was too swell to admit it, but she was a shoo-in for prom queen. All of this is to say that farting in her presence on their first date would be improper, discourteous, subversive, most of all disrespectful.

“Are you okay? You look sick.”

Oh God, please help me.

He heard a sound like water dripping from a leaky faucet. Something blue caught his eye. Is that a little man on the table?

“Yes it is, sonny boy! And don’t call me little, I prefer Renaldo! Look at my sash!” Indeed, he wore a silky purple sash diagonally across his otherwise bare chest. He twirled, presumably to show it off.

Okay. Sally is acting normal. She must not see this imp. Maybe the gasses in my stomach are now in my brain. Yes, that makes sense.

“Nonsense, my boy! I am here to assist you! You are experiencing digestive trouble and I shall save the day!” He ran circles around the dinner plate with his his arms raised as if to signal “touchdown” and chanting “Save the day!” in his high-pitched voice, which sounded like a man pretending to be a woman in a theatrical farce.

The borborygmi were intensifying and occurring with greater frequency with each of Renaldo’s laps.

“Save the day!”

Should I give in to this madness?

“Save the day!”

The pain is unbearable.

“Save the day!”

Okay, fine, help me!

“Save the day!”

Help me, damn you!

“Save the day!”

Why aren’t you doing anything?

Renaldo stopped and looked up at him seriously. “You have no manners. I don’t help people who have no manners.” He continued his sprints.

Please, help me Renaldo, I implore you!

“Save the daaaaaayyyyyyy!” Holding the last syllable, he peeled off his circular route and dove off the side of the table, into the path of a waiter carrying a large tray for the adjacent table. The waiter tripped. The resulting clangs of metal and china—as well as the gasps of nearby patrons, and the shriek of one overly dramatic woman—could be heard outside on the street.

Renaldo stood up, dusted himself off and saluted. A blue hole in space opened behind him.

“Aha! I am needed elsewhere, young man!”

Thank you. Thank you so much.

He had one foot in the hole when he called out over his shoulder. “Tell her about the plays you write, she likes a creative man! Skiddooooooooo!”


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